


It Was Only a Kiss

by FallenAngelWorks



Series: Mr. Brightside [3]
Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Anal Sex, Izaya's mental health needs a tag, M/M, Needy Izaya?, PArt 3 yall, Shizuo isn't technically in it, and Im a DisAsTEr, but maybe he is, but they will get logner, does that need a tag?, he's not taking care fo himself, i know it's short, let me know if I missed somethign!, no beta we die like men, probably a lot of parts XD, thinkign like, when the writer doesn't know how it ends XD, who knows not me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:40:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21827623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallenAngelWorks/pseuds/FallenAngelWorks
Summary: Well—it was actually only a fuck in the club—with someone just good enough Izaya could pretend it was Shizuo there in the bathroom stall with him instead.
Relationships: Heiwajima Shizuo/Orihara Izaya
Series: Mr. Brightside [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1569430
Comments: 4
Kudos: 39





	It Was Only a Kiss

_I could hardly say no to you, Yukihiko. I love you—and I always will._ Izaya’s eyes sprung open, the beginnings of dread forming in his stomach as his alarm went off a moment later. It was gearing up to be one of _those_ days. Izaya had put it all behind him after _that_ day, and he had been _fighting_ against the memory ever since. It surfaced in the moments when Izaya was trapped between sleep and awareness, and he would _always_ have a _shit fucking day._ He had let go of Shizuo, made one horrible and completely _unforgiveable_ decision because he had been stupid and extravagant with his anniversary gift to Shizuo. _Should have just taken the rings back._ Izaya rolled over to silence the blaring of his alarm, and then curled deeper into his covers, his body aching and his mind suddenly in tatters all over again as he tried to prepare himself for a _shit **fucking day**_.

Izaya’s day dragged on as he scrolled through chatrooms and forums, and his heart ached through every phone call. It was an exercise in patience, and Izaya was a patient person when it came to things he enjoyed— _he did not enjoy this._ Izaya had made a secondary mistake by waiting so long to make amends. He really had believed that Shizuo would come back, that he had just needed time away from Izaya. He had stayed away to give him space, and after a year, _Izaya had lost his mind._ He started blaming Shizuo, choosing to believe _he_ had made the mistake in leaving Izaya. Waited a third to try and figure out how the hell he was going to apologize, and done something as utterly _whorish_ as to throw himself at Shizuo in a moment of vulnerability. The blond had bent to Izaya’s will, and Izaya had both loved and loathed the attention. Izaya hadn’t uttered a single lie in that moment, hadn’t even thought to do so, because he wanted to show Shizuo his vulnerability. He wanted to lay himself bare, in a more metaphorical way than they had, yet he sincerely hoped Shizuo had gotten the message.

Izaya had left the rings. He had held onto them for three years, had spent days of his life staring at them an imagining the possibilities— _he had been certain Shizuo would say yes—_ and he couldn’t do it anymore if he was going to make Shizuo happy. He had left the rings, knowing Shizuo would probably throw them away— _a small voice in his head said Shizuo would never, but that was so long ago._ He would keep his word, he’d leave him be, he had done enough to hurt him. Izaya had never felt so broken, but after that last encounter, Izaya had really lost the will to do much of anything. He took low maintenance jobs that required very little ground work, he people watched from his apartment—now in Shinjuku just to give Shizuo extra space—and only left when Namie insisted he get some sun.

It was _really_ one of those days because Namie had dragged him out of the apartment after forcing him out of his sweatpants. Izaya had lost a lot of weight over the last year, not that he had weighed much before—and even his tightest pair of jeans hung from his hips now. Izaya knew he didn’t look like he used to, knew he looked even more odd to the outsider in his much too large clothes, and he didn’t care for being stared at. Namie offered to find a tailor, but Izaya couldn’t be bothered when he only left the sanctity of his apartment once or twice a week. _When did he become a recluse?_ Izaya shook his head as Namie led him by the arm down the sidewalk, insisting that they enjoy the sunshine before the snow set in and Izaya got more temperamental. He really disliked Namie, but he appreciated that she was making an attempt to get him on his feet.

She had sat him down on a bench and requested that he wait there. Izaya wasn’t in a position to argue. He wasn’t really sure where he was, but he was comfortable basking in the sunlight. _Shizuo had been his own personal sun._ Izaya closed his eyes tightly as the thought hit him like a bullet, and he dropped his head into his hands, thinking that the exercise of _living_ was suddenly very difficult. A hand on his shoulder alerted him to a presence, and he raised his head to see Namie holding out a paper cup from a café. He reached for it and took a drink, sighing as the bitterness washed over his tongue in a familiar way and Namie sat down close beside him. He turned to cup to see the logo on the front and nearly dropped his drink.

“I thought you could use something familiar. I hope it’s satisfactory.”

 _“We can’t be here.”_ Izaya stood abruptly and turned to look around the park that was starting to look _achingly_ familiar. He felt panic rising in his chest, and it mounted further when Namie grabbed for his wrist and pulled him to sit again. She was quite the lecturer, and Izaya would normally listen, but as his eyes took in hi surroundings, he couldn’t focus on what she was saying. Izaya was fidgeting, and just as he was making the decision to _leave,_ he was pinned in place by a voice he recognized. He turned his head to see Tom approaching him, hands in his pockets and nonchalant as he came to a stop in front of him. There was a blonde standing behind him, _and it wasn’t Shizuo._ A woman, tall and imposing, and Shizuo shrunk inwards slightly, and he hated himself for it. _He was not meek._

“Izaya, been a long-time man. I heard you left Ikebukuro, what are your doing back?”

“We’ve been on a walk. Please excuse my manners, I’m Yagiri Namie, Izaya’s partner. We decided to enjoy the weather before it gets cold, Izaya gets temperamental in the winter, doesn’t like to go out much.” Izaya turned to shoot a glare at Namie, her face placid and immovable as she reached to shake Tom’s hand. The blonde’s eyebrows rose at her introduction as well, and Izaya decided to busy himself with his coffee. _His favorite coffee, she bought it from the café he had talked about frequently. Shizuo had taken him there._

“Well how ‘bout that, finally moved on huh?” Izaya winced and Namie spoke again for him, this time the sound of her voice was sickly sweet and she was reaching out to touch at Izaya, thin fingers brushing his curtain of hair from his face. _It had been a while since he had gone for a cut._

“Of course, Izaya is a creature of particular tastes, and it seems as though I—”

“I believe Mr. Tanaka was speaking with _him,_ Ma’am. I’m sure he has the ability to speak for himself.” The woman behind Tom interrupted Namie, and Izaya was startled by her accent. _Russian?_ She had moved to stand beside him and she bowed shallowly at the hips towards Izaya. He nearly lost his tongue, her Japanese was good, much better than Simon’s, and her observance of the culture was polite. Izaya cleared his throat and turned so that he was facing Tom more directly, no longer trying to cower, his resolve stacking itself as he realized that he _hated this blonde._ She made him feel _small,_ and Izaya didn’t like it.

“I can’t stay stuck in the past. I made some mistakes, and I understand that I can’t make amends for them now, even if there had been a time when I could. It’s not easy, it won’t ever be, but I gave him my word, I swore I’d leave him be—so I’m _moving_ on. At the very least attempting to. Sorry to crash the neighborhood, we were just leaving anyway.” Izaya stood and grabbed for Namie’s wrist to drag her away before she could make the situation worse. He had a bone to pick with her now, but he would put it off for the moment. He wanted to get out of Ikebukuro before Shizuo picked up on him. _Izaya couldn’t face him again. Not after that last time._

Izaya sent Namie home the moment she had finished her duties, requesting that she take a few days off. _He couldn’t stand to look at her right now._ He curled himself up on the couch to flick through the television guide, trying to find something to take his mind off the day. Izaya had a pretty good idea that Tom was going to go and blab to Shizuo that Izaya had been spotted in the area, and that didn’t sit entirely well with him. He wanted to be invisible to Shizuo, wanted to give him what _he_ wanted. He wanted Izaya gone, he was as gone as he could be. Namie had done Izaya’s runs into Ikebukuro, the clients had gotten familiar with her and he was more than confident that she could take care of things if he _really_ wanted to give Shizuo all the space in the world. There were other places he could go, Russia, Italy, he’d had an interest in Spain and France too. He needed to be _here_ though. He could sense Shizuo every once in a while, if he concentrated hard enough, Izaya could feel him working the edge of Ikebukuro, just close enough to Shinjuku for his energy to taint the air. Izaya tossed the remote away after turning the TV to a different component to listen to the static. It was enough noise to filter out the insistent thoughts in his head. _Maybe he should try and find someone else. No one could fill the gap, but the physical fulfillment might just take the hurt away a little._

Izaya woke on the couch feeling terrible, his back sore and his neck cramped. He shuffled towards the bathroom to shower, hoping the hot water would ease his tensed muscles, and wash off the _dirty_ feeling he had gotten while Namie had tried to spew bullshit. Izaya was rinsing the conditioner from his hair when he realized how she must have sounded to Tom. _Namie had introduced herself as his partner._ That could be interpreted in a lot of ways, and Tom had only seen Izaya with Shizuo, never a woman. _Maybe he wouldn’t take it that way._ No, Tom would know what she had meant, know that she was talking _business_ partner. Izaya might not necessarily label himself as gay or bisexual, he just had an appreciation for humans in general— _and Shizuo was still his most beloved._ He shook his head and turned the water off after a good scrub down his body. _He had to stop thinking that way._

Izaya puttered around his apartment after dressing. He tried and attempted to tame his hair into something presentable, and gave up not long later. It was too fine, it wouldn’t hold any volume, instead choosing to lay limply against his head. After another moment of staring at the _mop_ on his head, he spotted the box of hair ties that Namie kept on the counter, just in case one of hers broke while she was working. Izaya had worn enough wigs to know how to do this, but it was strange tying his _own_ hair out of his face. It was a simple thing, pulling the dark strands from his face, gathering the ones at his neck higher and looping the elastic band around all of it at the crown of his head. He stared at his reflection a moment longer, and decided that— _he kind of liked it._ Maybe if Izaya decided to stop trying to be Shizuo’s perfect companion, he _would_ be able to move on. He’d give in to the anarchy he had suspended in favor of loving Shizuo, maybe that would bring him joy.

Izaya called a few of his rowdier clients and asked if they’d be interested in a dinner, _club night,_ for Izaya to take his mind of things. Many of them agreed and Izaya made the decision to try and find something that actually _fit_ him now, all his clothes on the loose side. A shopping trip that didn’t have to take as long as it did in the east district of Shinjuku yielded a new wardrobe, something closer to what Izaya thought a club rat might wear daily. _He intended to make himself one._ He changed, sporting clothes that were tighter than they had a right to be, and might have been just on the side of _too_ provocative, but Izaya intended to be taken home tonight. He wanted to soothe an itch, an ache he knew only one person could really help with, but damnit, he was going to fucking try. Anything to stop his mind from racing towards that head of blond hair he missed.

They decided on a ritzier place after Izaya had run into Shiki and agreed to foot the bill for dinner, having wanting to use the noise of the club to discuss a little business with Izaya. _Concerning Namie._ Izaya had nodded and smiled placidly before sliding into Shiki’s limousine and texting the new address to the party goers. The club was loud, the music heavy, and the bass was rumbling through Izaya in a way that wasn’t entirely pleasurable. _He needed a drink._ A booth was roped off, seating for twelve, and Izaya was escorted over by Shiki to wait for the others. Izaya didn’t particularly care for western spirits, _but_ _tequila and whiskey sounded very good._ Izaya started himself off with a few shots, downing them quickly and liking the burn, and then sat and nursed his whiskey glass until the others started to arrive. Shiki startled Izaya when he launched into quiet conversation—and expressed _interest_ in Namie. Claimed that Izaya assistant was the kind of woman Shiki had been _looking_ for, and for a moment Izaya’s stomach cured, until he realized how good for business that interaction might be. Izaya agreed to facilitate a time when Shiki could have a more _private_ meeting with Namie if she was amicable.

Bar food wasn’t the best, but the alcohol tab on _Shiki_ made it easier to enjoy the evening. Izaya slipped away after a while to slip through the dancing bodies, find someone worth his time, someone to take him home and be rough with him. He scanned the crowd for a moment, caught eyes with a few women, a couple of curious looking men, and almost curled his lip. _None were the right build, or had the right hair color._ Izaya had to snap himself out of that thought, and he turned to get another drink from the bar, hoping that if he inebriated himself further, _anyone_ would look good. As Izaya threw back a glass of whiskey one of the men Izaya had met eyes were had slipped up close behind him, a hand landing on his lower back and pressing in. Izaya turned to give him a look, trying to figure out if he was drunk enough to think he was hot enough.

“You look like you’re on the prowl sweetheart—anything _I_ can help you find?” The light chestnut of his hair, striking blue of his eyes and pale skin told Izaya that the gentleman wasn’t native Japanese, or at least had a parent that was most likely American, his accent leaking into conversation. Izaya turned to look at him more fully and was rewarded with a hungry once over, eyes roaming the length of Izaya’s admittedly too skinny body. Desire still curled in the depths of his eyes, and Izaya made a snap decision. _Good enough._ He pressed a little closer and let his fingers trail over the exposed skin of his collar, earning a shiver from the taller man. _Maybe not tall enough._

“Why don’t you buy me a drink and then ask me that question again bright eyes.” The corner of his mouth tipped upwards and he raised a hand to flag a bartender over, requesting another round for Izaya, and a cup of nigori sake for himself. Izaya tensed as the words left his mouth, and he had to concentrate on watching the tender pour the drinks to stop himself from running. He sipped at the dark liquid in his glass once it was in his hand and shifted his weight to his other foot, leaning a little closer to the stranger in his grasp.

“You sound American—what’s a westerner like you doing drinking sake?” He let out a laugh and slipped his hand away to grasp Izaya’s hip instead and step a little closer.

“What’s an easterner like you doing drinking whiskey.”

 _“I like the burn.”_ Izaya slammed his drink down and shuffled a little closer, pressing himself against the stranger’s groin and liking the way the color of his eyes darkened, how his pupils dilated, how his grip tightened. He swallowed thickly and slammed back the rest of his drink before putting the cup down and reaching to grab Izaya’s other hip. He dipped his head to press his lips against Izaya’s ear.

“I like how sweet it is. _Dance with me.”_ He was stepping away a moment later, reaching for Izaya’s wrist, and Izaya let himself be led into the throng of people as the song that was playing ended and another one started humming through the room, the bass heavier than before. _Izaya knew how to do this._ Once settled on the floor Izaya turned to press his back to the stranger’s chest, rolling his hips to the rhythm pulsing in his ears, was rewarded with an equally hard grind back against his ass. _This was easy._ The steady rhythm, the decent grind, the grasp of hands on him, it was intoxicating. Izaya was drunk enough to not _care_ who was touching him now, just that somebody _was_ touching. Then he was grabbing a little _too_ roughly, fingers tight and unforgiving as they pulled Izaya closer. He tried to let the liquor say it was alright, he had wanted punishment, _asked for it,_ but a few moments longer of the unyielding grasp and Izaya twitched away to signal his displeasure

Contact between him and his chosen partner was lost for a moment, and then he was back and pressing solidly against Izaya, the weight more comfortable than oppressing like it had been. Soft lips were touching at the exposed skin of his shoulder, hands slipping around his hips and surging upwards, one to wrap around his ribs, the other tight around his throat— _cold metal, a ring—_ both grasps were _blindingly_ possessive as his stranger shifted their hips to roll in a slow circle against the rhythm of the music— _it hit the right button for Izaya._ He pressed back into the grip, desiring more contact, thinking that _this_ is what he had wanted, this sort of touch—firm and possessive and _just_ the right amount of care. Izaya’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as their dancing turned more into dry humping, as his cock hardened in his too tight jeans and his shirt rode up when the brunet pressed against Izaya more firmly. The fingers around his throat uncurled and drifted downwards, stopped to tweak a nipple, and hot breath caressed the column of his throat, it had Izaya raising his arms to loop them behind himself, around the neck of the man with the blue eyes—eyes the furthest color from Shizuo’s—as he sucked a mark into Izaya’s skin. He moaned, the sound lost to the noise of the club, and then he was being dragged away. _Izaya hadn’t realized that his hair wasn’t the right color until later._

Soft lips were attached to his before he could really analyze what was happening, and then he was being dragged backwards into one of the stalls, pressed face first against the door once it was closed and his current lay could slip the lock into place. Izaya keened as he arched his back to thrust his ass out, desiring more contact, more of whatever this lack luster privacy would afford them both. Hands pulled at his clothing until his jeans were caught at his ankles, left with just enough room to spread his legs enough to expose himself, his shirt rucked up further until it was bunched up under his arms. A heavy groan hit his ears and teeth were nipping at his jaw, and fingers were roughly thrusted into his mouth. Izaya sucked like his life depended on it, moaning around the digits that almost felt familiar as he ground himself back against the rough fabric touching his skin. _He was big._ The ridge of his partners bulge pressed insistently against Izaya, and he reached a hand backwards to grip a hip and pull bright eyes more firmly against him. He received choked moan in response and then the fingers were being pulled from his mouth, and he caught sight of black metal just before the appendage disappeared and fingers rubbing at his rim had him forgetting about _everything._

Izaya had never been stretched so efficiently, and the lips at his neck, the way they were mouthing at him, nipping at just the right spots, it all felt so familiar— _the touch was just like his._ Whoever this American was, he was certainly experienced. Izaya tried to think of something clever to say, to goad his partner into giving him a good swat, he wanted to be sensitive, wanted his ass to be sore and red before bright eyes fucked him in the cramped bathroom stall. Teeth nipped at Izaya’s ear and he would have been embarrassed about the whine if his head hadn’t been yanked backwards by his hair. He had left it tied up, thinking it had looked good, and now bright eyes had wrapped his fist around his ponytail and was sucking a mark under the hinge of his exposed jaw.

 _“Oh fuck~_ I-if I had _known_ Americans were so talented—I-I would have left Japan _years_ a- _ah!”_ Sharp teeth sunk into Izaya’s adams apple and he lost the ability to speak for a few moments, and then he was being pressed back up against the door, and the sound of a belt being undone had Izaya moaning like a bought whore. _No, Izaya knew a few prostitutes, they couldn’t have moaned like **that** for their richest buyers. _Izaya was in the right headspace to demand a condom, and after a moment of shuffling, a bright purple foil square was flashed in front of him, and Izaya nodded his consent. Izaya listened to the muffled groan of his partner as the latex was rolled on, and then there was pressure at his stretched rim and Izaya was pressing back until a single slide had him so _deliciously full. He didn’t care about the spanking now._ Teeth pressed gently into his shoulder as a groan vibrated out of the brunet’s throat and one hand gripped firmly at his hip, the other shifted around to wrap long fingers— _warm metal—_ around Izaya’s aching cock. Izaya choked a whimper and instead needed to figure out what the _hell_ he was going to moan when he hit the wall.

“Y-you n— _ah fuck—_ never told me your name. How’m I su— _ah~ t-there—_ supposed to know what to scream? It’s probab— _oh my God, f-fuck me harder—”_ the stranger huffed a breath against Izaya that sounded vaguely amused. He had found Izaya’s prostate so quickly, and the jab of pleasure was so _needed,_ and Izaya was pressing back as much as he could _._ A few more thrusts, harder, deeper, pressing directly on Izaya’s most sensitive spot yielded a hot breath against his throat, a deep reply from a voice that rumbled through Izaya’s body just the right way.

 _“Call me whatever you want—I’ll be whoever you want me to be.”_ Izaya keened and pressed back hard against the next thrust, needing him to dip just a _little_ deeper, touch him just a little harder. He was long, thick, he could hit the right spots, his hands were the right size, had the right grip—but Izaya could feel him holding back. He wanted all of it, and the only person that came to mind to was _Shizuo._ He knew he couldn’t, knew that even the _American_ would know who Shizuo was if he lived in the area, the blond was hard to miss when he was angry. The only other thing he could think to say— _but he couldn’t say that, that was private._ A few more _hard_ thrusts and a wicked twist of the hand around his cock, right under the head, had Izaya seeing stars, and he just _needed_ to say it, he’d break it down a little, keep part of the secret he still uttered at home in bed.

 _“Atsu—I-I’ll call you Atsu.”_ There was a dark hum pressed right up against his jaw and his eyes caught a flash of gold, it was gone a second later, and Izaya was _sure_ it had been a trick of the light. A warm tongue licked a slow line up his throat, and then the hand around his cock was receding and Izaya bucked forward, a whine of protest leaving him. _He needed the friction._ The fingers weren’t gone for long though, they curled around his throat and squeezed just enough for Izaya to feel the pressure, the ring that he was sure was there pressed into his adams apple offering further bite to the possessive touch. _Yes, Atsushi would’ve touched him just like this._

 _“Atsu—that you’re boyfriend?”_ The next thrust punctuated the question, and Izaya keened, pressing back a little harder as he got light headed. A few seconds longer of _sweet pressure_ and then the hand around his neck was relaxing and Izaya took a few labored breaths before answering.

 _“N-no—_ he— _oh f-f-f-f- **fuck** —_he was _special_ — _really special_. _Y_ - _you t-touch me just like him, just enough rough.”_ Izaya’s answer was rewarded with a sharp nip to his chin, and then his head was turned just enough for his mouth to catch on Izaya’s. His tongue delved deep, and after a few moments of exploration it flicked upwards to touch at his palate and Izaya couldn’t stop that whimper. It hit his ears funny, and then his mouth was released and that hand was squeezing again, the rolls of Atsu’s hips deeper, _faster,_ Izaya could feel himself reaching the end, he needed a little more though—needed something else. _He wanted to hear Atsu’s voice again._ He had only said a few words, both out in the club, and her in the stall. He wanted to feel the rumble of his voi—

 _“So, this—ah—Atsu was special—shit—he have a name for you?”_ This gift was a sin, this American was fucking _perfect_ right now _._ Izaya was being touched just the way he liked, and he was going to get to hear the deep baritone rumble through him _just right._

 _“Y-Yuki—he-he called me Yuki.”_ The fingers around his throat pressed in deeper as soon as he answered, and his cock jumped against his abdomen as his breath was cut off. He knew his cheeks would be bright red, knew that he was going to blackout with this orgasm, _sincerely hoped this American would be alright with giving him his number._ He wouldn’t like using him, but if he was okay was a fuck every now and again, from behind so Izaya could pretend his hair and eyes were the right color, _Izaya would like that very much._ His own therapy, his desires sated and the idea that it _was_ Shizuo, might just fix him a little bit.

Izaya reached his peak a few moments later just as his vision was tunneling and that voice growled deeply in his ear, a sound extremely familiar yet foreign too. _Yuki._ Izaya gasped out a broken form of _Atsu_ and felt heat wash over him. A few moments of heavy breathing—of soothing petting that Izaya _almost_ wanted to ask him to stop because now it was intimate—ensued, and Izaya decided that maybe he could let it happen just this once. _He was still touching him like Atsushi_. Atsu receded a moment later and so did the fantasy. Izaya reached to right his clothes, and once he was decent he was grabbed from behind, unable to look at his screw with him plastered right to Izaya’s back. A hand reached forward to slip the lock out of place— _there was a black ring on his right hand—_ and Izaya was walked slowly out of the bathroom, Atsu’s grip unyielding but not uncomfortable. Izaya asked what he was doing, had to raise his voice to be heard over the music once they had left the bathroom.

 _“Was I who you wanted me to be?”_ Lips were pressed tight to his ear, and Izaya let his eyes flutter closed as the words caressed him. He nodded, and he felt Atsu’s mouth pull up at the edges, a ghost of a smile there.

 _“Then just let it be Yuki. Keep your eyes closed, count to ten, and when you open them, I’ll be gone.”_ Izaya wanted to protest, but then that hand was covering his eyes and there was a soft mouth pressed against his, and he was so _over_ arguing. He hummed his consent, alright with letting him escape because he was sure he’d catch him again if he came back to the club. Atsu pulled away and Izaya kept his eyes closed, counted to ten, and indeed, Atsu had vanished.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I'm am officially on exam break, I'm broke as shit, and have nothing better to do than dedicate myself to this—and a few Christmas fics—over the season. Expect frequent updates, I'm a fucking hermit, my bedroom is a fucking lair, all of my roommates are scared to come in here, and I'm kidn of terrified to leave. Should I be proud of that? I don't think so... 
> 
> I like feedback! Leave a kudos, leave a comment, but I always prefer more detailed criticism. I take requests! 
> 
> Hit me here: sin.menaceinc@gmail.com


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